


Undercover Angel

by spinner33



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Runaways in Danger, Undercover Steve, bedroom roleplay, relationship exploration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7087231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve goes undercover to help a troubled runaway, and reluctantly lets Danny help him.  Danny uses his New Jersey connections to solve the case (not a case!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Thing for a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Could I have come up with a cheesier title? Probably not.

Danny lifted his China blue eyes from his paperwork, and let them drift over the clock on his desk, towards Steve’s office across the way. 4 p.m. McGarrett was shutting off his computer, tidying up his casefiles, and picking up his light jacket. Danny’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

For three weeks now, every Tuesday and Thursday night, Steve would leave the office early, heading out without explanation. Kono and Chin had been alarmed at first, but now they pretended it wasn’t out of the ordinary. If anything, they attempted to distract Danny when Steve was leaving. 

Every Wednesday and Friday, Steve would come in to work – moving stiffly and yawning from lack of sleep. His carefully-cultivated stubble had given way to a clean-shaven face. His trim military haircut was drifting towards three inches long, enough that it required a touch of mousse to keep in place. He was suddenly flush with cash too, though it was a lot of smaller bills.

The most curious thing was how Steve had started drawing lingering stares from strange women on the street. Not that he wasn’t a head-turner in his own right, but these were stares of lust, and recognition. One woman had shouted ‘Spike’ from across the street, then ran right into the crime scene, and threw her arms around Steve. She kissed him full on the lips, and wrote her number on his palm, before being escorted out of the way. 

They hadn't been a couple for very long -- were still in that awkward stage of learning their way around each other, avoiding the sharp edges, rubbing the hurt away, kissing the scars. Danny had known going in that Steve had secrets, and he had ghosts, but Danny had his own share of those too. But it had stung painfully to see someone else being handsy with Steve in that way. 

‘Must have mistaken me for someone else,’ Steve had murmured without missing a beat. Danny noticed he didn’t wipe the number away though! 

Here it was, Thursday evening, and Steve was leaving early yet again. No explanation, no nothing! Danny had had enough. 

“Hey, McGarrett? Did you take up a second job on the side?” Danny called out, just as Steve was touching the outer door to leave. 

The Navy SEAL froze in place, and pivoted on one heel. There was a flush of panic in his features for a millisecond before sarcasm fell into its place. 

“Yeah, Danno. Like I’ve got time for a second job?” Steve played casual. 

Kono walked between them to get to Chin as Danny was leaning on the portal door. Kalakaua widened her eyes at McGarrett, and he shook his head no. 

“Just saying, buddy. There’s plenty of paperwork left to complete,” Danny fussed.

“Boys, play nice, or you’ll get a time-out,” Kono interjected as she passed going back the other way. 

“I gotta do a thing for a friend,” Steve replied, thumb pointing towards the exit. 

“You have friends?” Danny puzzled. 

“Low blow,” Chin chided as he handed Steve a file. McGarrett peered between the manila covers, holding the sides so Danny could not see what was inside. “Not even a hit with the DMV,” Chin added cryptically to Steve. McGarrett looked so sad and tired, shaking his head as he flipped pages. 

“God, I hate the ones like this."

"It's like she doesn't even exist." 

"Mahalo, buddy. Keep digging,” Steve whispered to Chin. 

“Will do,” Kelly replied. Steve nodded in agreement, and headed out the exit. 

Danny paused next to Chin, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the other man. 

“May I help you?” Chin smiled faintly, doing his best to hide the folder without looking like he was hiding it.

“What was that all about? What’s in the folder? No police file data number on the lip? Not a whole lot inside either,” Danny pressed. “Is the Big Kahuna working a little something-something on the side?”

“I dunno,” Chin denied, going back to his office. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Danny called out, following him a couple paces. 

“Let it go, Jersey,” Kono cautioned. 

“Guys, I thought we all agreed we weren’t going to let Steve work cases alone? Because he tends to do wantonly dangerous shit when we’re not around to look after him,” Danny complained. 

“Who said it was a case?” Chin asked, attempting to look as innocent as possible. 

“You should not be encouraging him to go into risky situations without backup,” Danny said. 

“He’s not doing anything dangerous,” Kono sighed, rolling her eyes. “We made sure of that first.” 

“Then you can tell me what he’s up to,” Danny pouted. 

“No, we can’t,” Kono replied. 

“Why not?” 

“He said not to tell you,” Kono remarked. 

“Can you keep a secret?” Chin murmured. 

“Yeah,” Danny insisted. 

“So can we,” Chin smiled. 

“Steve doesn’t want you to get involved,” Kono interjected. 

“I’m hurt,” Danny pined, hands over his heart. 

“He’s doing is a favor for a friend, just like he said,” Chin insisted. 

“Then why can’t you tell me what it is?” 

“Because, no,” Chin scolded. 

“He can tell you guys, but he can’t tell me? His best buddy? His partner?” Danny wondered, pointing to them as a duo but himself individually, fingers wiggling. “I know Steve better than anyone else. He’s not telling me because he knows I wouldn’t approve. Am I right? What – is he working as a gigolo?” 

“Funny that’s the first place your mind goes,” Kono noted. 

“Steve doesn’t want this one on the record books. If we all know about it, that makes it an official case,” Chin replied. 

“Why exclude me?” Danny sniffed. “I’m hurt. I really am. You’re breaking heart here.” 

“Jees Louise,” Kono sputtered. She snapped up a post-it-note, and jotted down a street address. 

“Don’t do it, Baby Cuz. Steve is gonna be pissed at you,” Chin warned her. 

Kono smacked the post-it-note right over Danny’s heart. “There you go. Knock yourself out, Jersey. But I don’t want to hear any complaints when you find out the truth.”

“You’ll regret it,” Chin warned him. 

“Why don’t let me decide that for myself?” Danny grinned, hurrying back to his office for his gun and badge. “Thanks, Kono!” he beamed on his way to the door.

“Don’t thank me yet. Be there at 8 p.m. There’s a dress code. You might want to shower and shave first. Put on a little cologne. A nice shirt. A nice tie.” 

“Is this a dating service?” Danny joked. Because they hadn't levelled with the cousins yet about what was going on between them.

“It might be, if you play your cards right, Loverboy,” Kono laughed. 

“I can’t believe you!” Chin scolded her. 

“What?”

“You are so going to Hell for this,” Chin told his cousin. 

“What could possibly go wrong?” Kono purred, slapping Danny on the backside as he raced out the exit.  
 


	2. The Thunder from Down-Under

Danny checked the address on the post-it-note three times before he smoothed his hair and headed for the door. Was Kono playing some massive joke on him? Why was Steve spending Tuesday and Thursday nights at Frisky Lickins’, the seediest, most notorious strip joint in all of Oahu? In the last two years alone, a bouncer had been murdered, and a minor gambling ring the previous manager had had going on the side had brought in the DEA. The murder had yet to be solved, and the reprobate manager was doing time in Halava. What was Steve McGarrett doing at Frisky Lickins’? 

Williams reached the head of the line, and put on a friendly smile. The smile withered as the bouncer sized him up with a dramatic groan. 

“What fresh hell is this?” the bouncer sighed. 

“Dude,” Danny chided, raising his hands, palms up, elbows locked to his waist. 

“The police again?” 

“Who said I’m police?” 

“That tie,” the bouncer mocked.

“Not to brag, but I do happen to be a member of the 5-0 Task Force,” Danny replied, fluffing his tie and fixing the knot. “But tonight, all I want is a drink.”

“Here?”

“Yeah?” 

“It’s Ladies Night.” 

“And?”

“Really don’t think this is your kinda thing, buddy.” 

“How do you know what my kinda thing is?” Danny tried another smile. 

“Whatever. I’m not judging. Night guy is coming in soon anyhow. You can be his problem. Knock yourself out.”

The bouncer waved Danny through. The detective ducked inside, wiggled his way through the crowd, and bellied up to the bar.

“Scotch, neat, thanks,” he called out to the bartender, whose serene gaze filled with vague amusement. 

“You here for the show?” she called back, dropping a shot glass, tipping up a bottle, giving him a little more than average, for which he was grateful. 

“Isn’t everybody?” Danny asked, eyes scanning the area in front of the stage, which was packed to the brim, standing room only. Where was Steve? You’d think a six-something, muscle-bound, tattooed Navy SEAL would be easy to spot in a crowd of glossy, beautiful women, dancing around in excitement, heads craning towards the curtains. Steve was nowhere in the crowd. That should have been Danny’s first clue.

* * *

(three weeks prior)

Kika Kahua, newly-minted manager of the Frisky Lickins’ Strip Club, waited anxiously at the desk in the office. She was not yet to the point where she was comfortable calling the desk her own. It was late at night, not long after closing. She could hear the girls down the hall in the dressing rooms, showering, cleaning up, getting dressed, and ready to head out for the night.

This office was a dive. It smelled like cheap cologne and sweat and fear. It could use a coat of paint, and some different décor. Kika had removed the raunchy pin-up calendars, the paraphernalia which was part and parcel of an operation like this. She had also cleaned out the hidden stash of sex toys, not even quite sure what all of them were for. She wanted to turn the place around, maybe salvage a little bit of its terrible reputation, as much as she could, least ways. That’s what this meeting was all about. 

“There's a guy here to see you, Boss Lady.” 

The voice stirred Kika out of her daydreams about yellow walls versus green walls. Her smile spread. He had gotten her message, and he had dressed the part. 

“You okay alone with this guy?” the bouncer asked. 

Kika smiled sideways at her second-in-command, the junior bouncer who was now the senior bouncer, who had been by her side for several months now. She trusted the young man. He wasn’t terribly bright, but he was willing to learn. 

“I frisked him for weapons. He’s not packing anything,” the youngster continued.

"Cheap shot, mate," the man murmured, squinting hard at the younger man. 

“Thanks, Marky. We’re good. You here about the ad for male dancers?”

“Right. Name’s Spike,” the man laughed, rubbing his belly unconsciously. He was using an Australian accent. It wasn’t too bad. Not too broad. Not too showy. 

“Male dancers?” the bouncer goggled at Kika. 

“There’s going to be a few changes,” she promised. 

“Male dancers?” the bouncer repeated with disbelief. 

“You wanna go walk the girls to their cars, and butt out?” Kika laughed, pointing out. Marky shrugged, and closed the door. 

Spike glanced at the closed door, and back at Kika. 

“Can you trust that guy?” 

“Marky is fine. Thanks for coming, Steve. Appreciate it,” she said, breaking the ice with a little pat on his shoulder. She was going for a buddy-buddy slap of affection. 

“Male dancers?” McGarrett asked, motioning to his clothes. “Is that why you said to dress in leather?” 

Kika had known Steve since they were both gangly teens waiting to grow into their outsized limbs and weird noses. Year after year, they would be sorted by size for class pictures. Being lined up by height sucks, particularly when you're the one girl who is taller than all the boys. Kika was invariably placed in the back row, next to Steve McGarrett, who was then a bashful boy who was good at football, and bad at math. She liked him because he was taller than her. He liked her because she didn't tease him about his nose. They had been friends since she had helped him with math, and he had gotten her into the football games by claiming she was his girlfriend. 

“It’s gonna be great,” Kika soothed, admiring the leather pants and cut-off-sleeve tee. 

“Your message said it was urgent?” 

“I need your help with one of my girls,” Kika got right to the point. Steve appreciated the directness. 

“Does she have a criminal history?” 

“None yet. I wanna keep it that way.”

“Go on,” Steve urged. Kika pointed him to a chair in front of the desk. 

“She claims she’s from Poughkeepsie.” 

“Oh,” Steve winced. 

“Says she’s twenty-two, but she’s not a day over fifteen is my guess.” 

Steve winced even tighter. “She got a name?” 

“Angel Stardust.”

“You think it’s an alias?” Steve snickered. Kika pretended to kick him in the shins before sitting down on her own desk top. 

“I wouldn’t normally get involved, but she’s just a kid. She’s got no business up on a stage, taking off her clothes for these animals.” 

“I’m of a mind that no one ought to have to take off their clothes to make ends meet. You want me to arrest Angel, take her in?” 

“I’d like to make this quick and easy too, but I don’t want to embarrass her. I get the feeling if you scare her, she’s going to bolt again. Also I’d like to avoid making a scene.” 

“Bad for business.”

“I’m barely keeping the place afloat. After Ziggy’s untimely demise, and Mr. Hood’s gambling ring, I don’t think the place could take another appearance in the police blotter.” 

“I’m happy to help, but are you sure I’m the right guy for you? What if someone recognizes me?” 

“There’s been quite a turn-over since you and your guys were here. These ladies don’t stay for long at one place. Those that were here when you were working Ziggy’s murder have all but moved on, except one or two. I’ll have a chat with them, tell them they don’t know you, they haven’t seen you, you’re a stranger as far as they know.” 

“All right. How do you want me to proceed?” 

“I want you to learn everything you can about Angel. You’re going to have to earn her trust. I can’t send the kid home if I don’t know where home is. I don’t even know her real name, for crying out loud. I mean, we both know the statistics, right? My dad was a cop too, and I was an MP when I was in the service. I know how many women in the sex industry are there because they ran away from an abusive environment, from terrible homes with absent parents. They get sucked into this business to make a fast buck, but it usually leads to prostitution and homelessness, and they end up in abusive adult relationships. How many of them wind up dead, or worse?” 

“Do I have to be a dancer?” Steve whined.

“I’ve seen your moves, man. You’re a natural,” Kika lied pleasantly, gently. 

“My god, I’m so sure,” Steve rolled his eyes. “Why get involved in Angel’s problems?” 

“She’s a dumb kid.”

“How do you know she’s so young?” 

“She cuts the crusts off her sandwiches.” 

Steve groaned in sympathy and shook his head. 

“Angel has her whole life ahead of her. I don’t want this job to eat her alive. She’s got all these ridiculous fantasies about how she’s going to make a million dollars, and be set up for life doing this.” 

“She reminds you of Keone?” Steve ventured a guess. Kika sagged, her big shoulders drooping. 

“What can I say? I’ve got a weak spot for runaways in trouble.”

“Your big sister turned out all right,” Steve pointed out. 

“Sure yeah, because my dad flew to Phoenix, and spent a year on the streets searching for her. My sister is alive because my dad is a tight-ass military dickhead who wasn’t going to take defeat lying down. Bringing her home was a mission, and he never failed any mission. He was able to bring her home, get her cleaned up, get her back. Keone turned out all right. But Angel? She doesn’t have that person in her life. She doesn’t have anyone going to bat for her.”

“You sure about that?” 

“If my fifteen-year-old daughter was missing, would I be sleeping a whole night through? Or would I be walking the streets of every city, desperate to bring my baby home? I would move Heaven and Earth to find her.” 

“No one’s searching for Angel, and that breaks your heart?” Steve asked. 

Kika touched her hand to her chest, and nodded through misty eyes. 

“Yeah, man. It fucking breaks my heart.” 

“Okay, Kika. Whatever you need. You’re the boss,” Steve said, reverting to Spike’s Australian accent and big grin. “But couldn’t I please be a bartender or something? Everyone talks to their bartender.” 

“The accent is good. But don’t overdo it.” 

“Right.” 

“Spike?” she chuckled. 

“Spike,” he nodded. 

"No. You can't be a bartender." 

"Maaaaan," he whined.

* * *

The lights went down. The music came up, a perky tempo that sounded familiar. The cheesy purple curtains parted slowly. The bartender refilled his shot glass. Danny snatched it up, and turned around towards the small stage as he took a sip.

A lone figure stood against one of the three poles on the stage, waiting for the song to kick in. He was bare-chested under a leather jacket, and his leather pants could not have gotten any tighter without endangering his blood supply. He had a hat pulled down over his eyes and face, but it was clear the audience had every idea who this man was. 

Danny realized who it was with a swallow and a gasp. He inhaled the shot of liquor, and began choking and coughing. He put the shot glass down with a thump, patting his own chest to clear his lungs. He couldn't take his eyes off the stage. His mouth was hanging open in shock. The song kicked in – Kiss by Prince. Steve’s hips started swaying, shoulders rolling. The music seemed to take over his entire body. Steve slowly made his way towards the edge of the stage, to the delighted screaming and howling from the ladies lined along the edge. He tossed his hat into the audience, and there was a mad scramble. Steve got nose to nose with one lucky lady, pulling her up on stage with him. She squealed and danced around with excitement when he dotted an almost-kiss on her nose before doing a full body wave up and down one of her legs. 

Well this certainly went a long way to explaining Steve’s sudden steady supply of small bills!


	3. Undercover Angel

“Spike? There’s a guy here to see you,” Marky called out. He walked through the dressing room, head darting around like a chicken. Almost fell over the beat-up leather chair in the middle of the room next to a low couch with a sagging middle. 

“Is he handsome?” Steve asked from the bathroom.

“Adorable,” Marky replied, focusing his attention that way. 

“Is he rich?”

“Not likely.” 

“Is he dangerous?” Steve asked, appearing in a robe, running fingers through his hair. 

“Doubt it.”

“One out of three ain’t bad.” 

Steve peered around Marky’s shoulder, and grinned. Danny was leaning on the door frame, flashing his badge, grimacing sourly. He hoped he didn’t have the aura of the creepy stalkers who hang around outside of strip clubs, waiting to talk to the dancers. 

“The fuzz,” Steve murmured, raising a brow. The Australian accent wasn’t bad, actually. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Officer?” 

“Detective Sergeant. I only need a few minutes,” Williams promised, putting away his badge. He had drawn it out on the outside chance Steve tried to make him leave. 

“Let him in,” Steve agreed reluctantly, a faint smile teasing his mouth. 

“Scream if he goes for his handcuffs too soon,” Marky mused on his way out. Danny waited until the door was closed before he stalked over to Steve. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to shake him by the shoulders, or kiss him senseless. 

“ ‘Spike’?” Danny demanded under tone, brushing his nose to Steve’s chin. He smelled delectable, like clean soap, and coconuts. Danny's mouth was watering. If he wasn't so angry, he would have pushed Steve up against the nearest wall. 

“Danno, I can explain,” Steve whispered, dropping the accent for a moment. 

“I CAN’T WAIT!” Danny barked. He licked his lips, eyes going up and down that robe which was clinging to Steve’s wet body. 

But there wasn’t time. The door to the dressing room popped open. A young girl hurried in. She was dressed in the short blue robe and thigh-high black boots, her curly blonde hair down in her face. Her brown eyes were red from crying. 

“Spike? You got a minute? Oh! Sorry. Sorry. You want I should come back later?” 

“It’s all right, Babydoll. Tell me what you need,” Steve replied, begging Danny to play along. 

“Who is he?” the youngster wondered, pointing to the gapping man, who looked like he had seen a ghost.

“Boyfriend,” Danny blurted before Steve could answer. The young girl’s eyes widened. 

“Ex-boyfriend,” Steve amended angrily. Danny whirled around and faced off with him. The hurt on his face wasn’t feigned. 

“Come on, babe. Don’t be that way. I said I was sorry,” Danny pleaded earnestly. 

“Sorry? You were fucking my sister!” Steve shouted. 

“I never fucked your sister,” Danny defended angrily. 

“Lying bastard,” Steve accused. “I walked in on you! On my mother’s bed! You oughta be in church, begging for forgiveness!”

“I wasn’t in my right mind. I had too much to drink. I didn’t know what I was doing,” Danny continued. 

“Like that’s an excuse?” 

“Baby, don’t be that way. I love you. I need you. I was kinda hoping for a threesome,” Danny added, pawing at Steve desperately. 

“Mate, that’s just sick,” Steve howled, slapping the hands away. 

“That isn’t what you said last time,” Danny teased, running a finger down the middle of Steve’s chest. 

McGarrett’s robe was coming loose because he was gesticulating as he spoke. Danny had a hard time keeping his eyes above the waistline. 

Steve snatched his robe back together, blushing. 

“I hate you,” Steve insisted thinly, looking away, down at the floor, up at Angel. Was she buying this? 

“I’ll come back,” the young girl whispered, fighting a smile as backed slowly out of the room. 

“What do you need, kiddo?” 

“Could I borrow a few bucks?” 

“How much you need?” Steve asked. 

“A hundred fifty,” she admitted shyly. “I can’t make rent this week.” 

“Do you know how many lap dances that is?” Steve goggled. 

“I know. I wouldn’t ask, but I’m kinda desperate. You might get lucky. Mrs. Montebello is back,” Angel replied, pointing a thumb back over one shoulder.

“Is she?” Steve asked anxiously. 

“Back row. Red dress. Just like last week, and the week before.” 

“I just might get lucky after all,” Steve purred. “What did you do with your paycheck?” Steve grilled her. 

“I blew it. I’m an idiot.” 

“You didn’t put it up your nose, did you?” 

“No, Spike, no. That is not my thing,” Angel defended. 

“What did you spend the money on?” 

“Clothes,” she lied unsuccessfully. 

“Tell you what. I’m house-sitting for a Navy buddy while he’s deployed. Why don’t you come stay with me?” 

“I don’t know,” Angel replied nervously. Her eyes were all over Danny, not in a good way. 

“Don’t worry. You’re perfectly safe with me, Babydoll. And he’s not allowed in Freddie’s house,” Steve added, pointing at Danny. 

“Why am I not allowed in Freddie’s house?” Danny asked. 

“Because you fucked his sister too,” Steve replied quickly. 

“It was one time!” Danny exclaimed. 

“After closing, we’ll swing by your place, get your stuff, right?” Steve offered. 

“I don’t want to be a pest,” Angel cringed. 

“I'd love to have you there. You can help me figure out the washing machine. Do you know how to cook?”

Angel flew into the room, hugged Steve, and fled again in a flurry of steps. 

“You don’t know how much I appreciate this. I’m so… I’ll cook. I’ll do laundry. I’ll do anything you ask.” 

The way she said those words made Steve tear up and bite his bottom lip. 

“Not my thing, Babydoll. You ain't gotta go nothing like that.” 

“Thanks thanks thanks thanks thanks! Gotta go!” 

Angel flew out of the room again, slamming the door behind. 

Steve and Danny watched her race away, and waited a couple beats before either of them dared to speak. 

“Thanks for not blowing my cover,” Steve leaned in to whisper in Danny’s ear. His partner shuddered, and whirled to grab Steve’s shoulders. 

“Is she the reason you’re here? You’re working undercover, scoping her out?” 

“Runaway from Poughkeepsie. Three and a half weeks now, and not so much as a clue. I’ve been doing everything but polish her boots to reel her in. Loaned her my car a couple times. Loaned her some money. Let her borrow some clothes.”

“You should have clued me in what you were doing,” Danny scolded. 

“I couldn’t.”

“We gotta call the FBI.” 

“No. This can’t be an official case. They’ll call Child Services. They’ll throw her in foster care. I don’t want to see that happen.” 

“You don't understand. We have to call the FBI,” Danny insisted as he pulled out his phone, dialing numbers. Steve watched in horror. 

“Who are you calling?” McGarrett wondered. 

“Hey, Philly? It’s Jersey. How you doin’?” 

Steve was frowning now. He did not like this turn of events, at all. 

“Are you sitting down? Yeah, I know what time it is. Are you sitting down?” Danny grinned, and waited a beat. “You gotta get on a plane to Hawaii, now. Why? Because I think I just found Bambi DeLupa. No, I’m not kidding. I would not kid you about this, would I, ever? Where? Working in a strip club in Oahu.” 

Danny pulled the phone away as a riotous round of screaming and shouting went up from the other end. Once the noise quieted down, he tucked the phone close again. 

“Philly, calm down. I ain’t gonna make you explain it to Mr. DeLupa. You call the FBI. I’ll call Mr. DeLupa. Keep it on the down-low for now, okay, Philly?”

Danny disconnected the call. Steve blinked at him, and smacked him in the back of the head. 

“What was that for?!” Danny wailed. 

“For not telling me who she was sooner,” Steve scowled. 

“Get dressed. I’ll go get Bambi.” 

“No, no, no, no. We’re going to do this my way.” 

“Are you kidding me? You've been fucking around for almost a month, wiggling your butt for perfect strangers, and all you had to do, all you HAD to DO, was loop me into this little party of yours. And did you? No. I had to beg. I had to beg to be included!” Danny ranted. Steve crossed his arms over his chest, brows bunching together as he listened. 

“Who is Bambi DeLupa?” 

“See, I’m not going to tell you. You know why?” 

“Why?” Steve pouted. 

“Because if you don’t know, you need me to help you, don’t you?” Danny taunted. 

“How do you know who she is? You saw her for all of two minutes," Steve replied skeptically. 

“I don’t know for sure, but there’s an easy way to find out. Has she got a tattoo of a particular Disney fawn on her ankle?” 

“I hadn’t noticed,” Steve lied. Yes, Angel did have a particular Disney fawn tattooed on her ankle. Not that Steve was going to admit that to Danny here and now.

“Great detective work there, boyfriend," Danny laughed. 

"“Ex-boyfriend,” Steve pouted. "If I hauled in every stripper with a Bambi tattoo...." Steve lamented. 

“Come on, Spike. I can help. I wanna play too,” Danny pleaded. 

“No,” Steve refused, though it was clear he was wavering.

“Please......” Danny whined. "If it is Bambi, I can help. I've got an 'in' with her family." 

"No." 

“What if I make it worth your while?” Danny purred, nipping tenderly on Steve’s earlobe. 

“I gotta be on stage in like, ten minutes,” Steve protested huskily. Danny shoved him backwards down into the leather chair behind him, and yanked his robe open. 

Steve’s arms wrapped around Danny’s shoulders as his partner nosed kisses and licks across his pecs and down the center of his chest. 

“We can’t do this here,” Steve whispered. “The door doesn’t even lock.”

Danny turned the chair 180 degrees away from the door, and pushed Steve’s knees apart, easing between them again. 

“So not subtle,” McGarrett giggled softly. 

Danny turned that playful amusement to fiery lust with one flick of the wrist, one stroke of the tongue. Steve shivered and scrunched down against the old cushion, knees falling open further. All ten fingers clenched behind him on the back of the chair as he submitted himself. Danny couldn't think of many sights on the planet which rivaled Steve McGarrett, legs spread, eyes closed, biting his bottom lip in anticipation. 

“Shouldn’t…” Steve protested with a raspy groan, hips rocking, elbows pointed skyward. 

Heat rising off his blush-red face, Steve squirmed as Danny stroked him to full-mast. His partner faltered for a moment as his phone began to ring. 

“Don’t you dare,” Steve panted, groaning when Danny let go with his mouth, nosing kisses up Steve’s abdomen. He pulled out his phone, tossed it on the center of Steve’s chest. 

“Yeah, Kono?” Danny asked. 

Steve sat up with a lurch and a grunt, batting Danny’s hands off his body, blushing and trembling. "You are evil.... evil...." Steve rasped. 

“Am I interrupting anything?” Kono asked. 

“No,” Danny lied.

“I’ll be brief,” Kono promised. 

“Please do,” Steve breathed. Danny teased fingertips along Steve’s bared hip, wishing he would move his big hands out of the way. “By the way, great job of keeping your mouth shut, Kono,” Steve added with a huff. 

“Sorry, Boss. I just fielded a call for Danny from Lieutenant Philip Romano, Newark PD? He’s asking for help booking a flight to Hawaii to consult on a case with us?” 

“It’s okay, Kono. He’s legit,” Danny replied. "Can you help him out?" 

“Dude, I am not a travel agent for your homeboys,” Kono hollered back. 

“Please help him out. He’ll wind up in Omaha if you don’t. I’ll buy you coco puffs. Please, Kono?” Danny pleaded. 

“Jersey, you will buy me all the coco puffs,” Kono replied. 

“Five minutes, Spike!” Marky called from right outside the door. 

“Coming,” Steve called back. “I wish,” he grumbled. 

“Ew. Gross. Hanging up,” Kono threatened. 

“Kono, could you do me a favor?” Steve asked. 

“Before or after I arrange a flight for Danny’s buddy?” 

“After?” 

“What?” 

“Could you go over to my house and dirty the place up a little?”

“What?” Kono laughed. 

“Make it look like a male stripper is crashing there.” 

“You want me to trash your house?” Kono checked. 

“Yes. Please. Thanks," Steve said. 

“All right. Later,” Kono replied, hanging up. 

“I gotta….” Steve panted, brushing Danny’s two-tone hair as his partner brushed a kiss to his mouth. 

“You gotta what?” 

“I gotta get up.” 

“I can help you with that,” Danny grinned. 

“Gotta get ready. My adoring public waits.” 

“You’re going back out there?” Danny gawped. 

“Yes,” Steve answered, slithering out of the chair and into the bathroom once more. 

“I don’t like this!” Danny bitched. 

“What if I promise a private performance later?” Steve asked, appearing around the corner, pulling on a different pair of tight pants. Danny eyed him up and down, and licked his lips. 

“I can be bribed,” Danny hummed.


	4. The Apartment

“I won’t be long,” Angel said as she opened the door to the Marquis and stepped onto the pavement. 

“You want me to come in with you?” Steve asked. 

“No thanks.” 

The young girl was gone in a flash, weaving between two parked cars, opening the front door to the tenement apartment building after a couple tries. Danny sat forward in the back seat, which allowed him and Steve to talk without Steve having to turn all the way around. 

“What a dump,” Danny commented, shaking his head. 

“I know,” Steve lamented, glancing around. There was a group of youths on the next corner, checking out the strange car. They were milling around the front stoop of an abandoned old house which, like this one, had been turned into multiple tiny apartments. To say it was a rough neighborhood was an understatement. A line from an old movie popped into Danny's head. He was saying the words before he knew it. 

" 'I grew up in a neighborhood called Noah's Ark. If you didn't travel in pairs, you just didn't travel'." 

Steve cackled softly, hiding a grin. "Operation Petticoat. Tony Curtis. Mm," the Navy SEAL purred.

“She’s got five minutes, and then I’m going in after her,” Danny murmured. He shouldn't have been surprised that Steve had seen the movie too. “Shit. Did one of those little dickheads disappear around the back? There were five of them. Now there’s only four.” 

“He went inside the building,” Steve replied. 

“What are those punks up to?” Danny wondered, sniffing the air like it would hold a clue.

“Whatever it is, we can’t get involved. The best we can do is call it in."

"If you had a kid, would you let them live in a place like this?” Danny frowned.

“No, but sometimes folks don’t have a choice,” Steve answered. 

"Yeah, I hear you," his partner agreed with a sad nod.

A light went on upstairs. They craned their eyes, ashamed that they could see through the curtains which were hanging at an angle. Angel was hurrying around throughout an attic room. She tossed two large duffels down on the chair in front of the window, dashing back and forth. They could see her tossing clothes and shoes inside, a book or two. She picked up a stuffed animal, hugged it to her chest, and then pushed it into the bag. Steve inhaled softly. Danny gulped. They had both felt a stab right through the heart.

“You gonna tell me more about who you think she is?” Steve asked. 

“No, ‘Spike’, I’m not,” Danny replied. 

"You said 'Bambi DeLupa' before. Was that supposed to mean something?" 

“What time is it in New Jersey?” 

“It’s 2 a.m. here, so it’s 8 a.m. in Jersey. Why?” Steve wondered. 

“I gotta make a call,” Danny replied, pushing the passenger seat forward, climbing out of the car. He paced back and forth on the sidewalk. Steve was giving him dirty-eye through the open window. 

“Philly, it's Jersey. Did you make your flight?"

Danny stopped in his tracks, stood up straighter, and adjusted his tie. 

"Good Morning, Mr. DeLupa. What a pleasant surprise.” 

The deference with which Danny was speaking caught Steve’s attention. 

“Where is Lieutenant Romano, if you don't mind me asking? Right there with you? I see.”

Small pause. Danny's eyes narrowed. Steve's nerves danced with concern.

“My dad is fine. Thank you for asking. Yes, sir.”

Danny’s face contorted with emotion, sympathy foremost. 

“No, sir. Mr. DeLupa, I wasn't trying to hide anything from you. Sir, you have to understand. I wanted to investigate if this young woman is your granddaughter before I called you. I didn't want to put you through this again, if it turns out she's not Bambi. I know you're a busy man, and I didn't want you to waste your time flying all the way out here for nothing." 

Danny got quiet again. He met Steve's inquisitive gaze, and shrugged helplessly. 

"I know it's not for nothing if it's family. That's not what I meant. Where you at? Already? That's good. No. It is good. Did you bring the necessities? I know you've done this a lot over the past couple years. Every body that's been found that's matched your granddaughter's description. DNA, pictures, the whole works. I know. I'm so sorry to put you through this again, Mr. DeLupa. I do know how hard it must be on you. That's why I wanted to make sure before I called you." 

Danny froze in place, his bottom lip jutting out as his brow furrowed.

"I know how you feel about law enforcement, yes, sir, I do, and with good reason, but you know you can trust Philly, and you can trust me." 

Danny paused again, not because the conversation had faltered, but because Steve had gotten out of the car too. McGarrett was leaning on the driver’s side, arms stretched out on the roof of the car.

“Yes, sir. I appreciate your help so much. See you in a few hours,” Danny said, hanging up his call. He looked ten years older.

“You wanna talk, mate?” Steve asked, still holding up the Australian accent. 

“No," Danny shivered. "We got problems."

"I could just do an internet search, DeLupa, New Jersey...."

"Steve, this is serious," Danny replied sternly. 

"I can see that. Is that....is that what my Constipation Face looks like?" McGarrett wondered. Danny fought with a smile. The bond between the two men went beyond friendship, beyond lovers. The up side of the connection was that they worked like a well-oiled machine on cases and in the field. The down side was that they knew how to get under each other’s nerves like no one else. But they also knew when it was not okay to push particular buttons. Family was one of those buttons.

Danny shook his head no, and smoothed down his hair with both hands, tucking his ducktail back in place. He laced his fingers behind his head, and stared at Steve. 

"Nothing can fuck us up so hard, so fast as family, am I right?" Danny sighed painfully as he let his arms drop to the sides.

"Mmm hmm," Steve hummed in agreement, chin rising, smiling tightening around the edges. "When is your friend Philly gonna get here?" 

"Mr. DeLupa and Lieutenant Romano are passing through Kansas City right now. Not until noonish, maybe two? Depending," Danny replied. 

"Depending on what?" 

"Depending on if Mr. DeLupa hasn't already cut off Philly's hands, and fitted him with cement shoes, and dropped him off somewhere in a construction zone in the Plaza," Danny joked uncomfortably. "Sorry. That's not right. I shouldn't be taking cheap shots at Mr. DeLupa. He's a good man." 

“Here she comes,” Steve murmured, nodding towards the building. 

Angel appeared, toting two duffels, her purse, and a big hobo bag. She scampered across the walk, flip-flops flapping double-time. She had left her boots at the strip joint. Steve jumped out, popped the trunk, and helped her put the two duffels in. He reached for the hobo bag. Angel drew back in alarm. Someone meowed plaintively. Steve inhaled, and his eyes got wide. Angel held the hobo bag tighter. 

Steve stared at Angel. Angel looked anywhere but at him. 

“Get in, Babydoll,” Steve said sadly.


	5. Your Place or Mine

Steve tentatively unlocked the front door, peering in like he expected to be mauled by wild tigers. Danny walked right in past Steve, carrying one of Angel’s duffels. Steve had the other. Angel followed behind Steve, eyes wide with surprise. 

“Your Navy buddy must be rich.” 

“Not rich. Just lucky,” Steve answered, locking the door, and turning on the security system. “Let that poor cat out before it suffocates,” he added. 

“What?” Danny gulped. 

Angel put her hobo bag on the floor. A long-haired, short-legged black cat dashed out, taking cover behind the divan. Golden eyes studied the surroundings suspiciously. Her cheap rhinestone collar glittered and jangled as she ran.

“Princess is a good girl. You won’t even notice her,” Angel promised sheepishly, tucking the hobo bag to her chest, and giving Steve a pleading stare. “Leave a window up, or the backdoor propped open a bit, and she’ll go in and out on her own, do her business, come back. She's a very quiet girl. You won’t notice her at all.” 

“Won’t notice who?” Steve smiled reassuringly, picking up clothes as he made his way to the stairs. “I love cats. No worries.” 

Angel relaxed, staring around at the disarray. Danny couldn’t help but stare as well. Kono had only had a little over 120 minutes, but Steve’s immaculate house was a complete wreck. There were jeans and tees strung out everywhere. Socks. Underwear. Briefs. Danny recognized some of his own clothes thrown into the mix. A feather boa or two—that was different! Where had they come from?

Kono had piled every surface with newspapers and take-out boxes. Steve suspected she might have raided the trash in the kitchen and the garage both. Monday’s Kung Pao chicken was smelling up the coffee table. The tails from Tuesday’s garlic shrimp were strewn decoratively across the kitchen counter. A filter with old coffee grounds was hanging out of the coffee machine. Thank goodness the boys had eaten out on Wednesday, or there would be pancakes and bacon lying around.

“Wow,” Danny chuckled. 

“Sorry about the mess. I haven’t had a chance to pick up,” Steve commented. He should have left some of the trash around, keep up the appearance, but Danny knew it wouldn’t last. Too many years in the Navy, dealing with restricted spaces and the necessity of being neat and tidy with your belongings, had had a profound impact on Steve’s psyche. McGarrett was going to start cleaning and not stop until the house was right again. 

Kono hadn’t just opened the garbage and placed it around. She had thrown a pile of mail on the counter – nondescript stuff that Steve usually recycled right away like grocery store coupons, flyers for local events, travel temptations. She had also emptied the dishwasher, and stacked the clean dishes haphazardly into the sink and up onto the counter. The leftover shrimp tails were perilously close to the clean plates. 

“It’s okay. I can help,” Angel offered. 

"It'll only take a week or two to fix," Danny joked."

“Hey, you can’t be in here. If Freddie finds out I let you in his house, he’ll have my balls in a vice,” Steve said to Danny, poking him in the chest. Steve’s phone started ringing. Danny just smiled innocently, giving his best 'What?' face. “Hello?” Steve growled peevishly. 

“Why don’t I show Angel where the guest room is?” Danny whispered.

“Why don’t you do that?” Steve agreed, pulling the phone into his opposite palm for a moment. Angel dragged one duffel and Danny dragged the other. 

“Right this way,” Danny said. 

“Hey, Kika. What’s up?” Steve whispered when the others were out of earshot.

“McGarrett, am I going to have to come to your house, and punch you in the face?”

“What? Why?” 

“Are you out of your mind? You invited Angel home with you?” 

“She can’t make rent, and she needs a safe place to stay.” 

“You invited her to live with you?” 

“She needed a place. I was trying to be helpful.” 

“You better keep her safe,” Kika warned. “Your pervy boyfriend touches her, and I’ll decapitate him.” 

“He isn’t going to touch her. She’ll be a damned sight safer here than in that dump where she was living,” Steve whispered. 

“Strippers can’t afford to live on Diamond Head Road, you know?”

“I know, but…” 

“You keep her safe,” Kika warned again. 

“Yes, Mother,” Steve replied, finding a smile. 

Princess was peering at McGarrett from under the side table, golden eyes narrowed to distrustful slits. He opened a cabinet and plucked down a can of tuna. Hunted up a clean saucer. 

“Keep me posted,” Kika added. 

“I will,” Steve agreed. He put away the phone, and searched for the can opener. At least Kono hadn’t gotten her hands on the utensil drawers. Steve made kissy-kissy noises, and put the saucer of tuna down on the last tile in the kitchen floor. He turned around to put the empty can in the recycling bin, and heard the tell-tale sounds of someone wolfing down food. Purring filled the air. Steve smiled, heading to the stairs. 

“Where you from, kiddo? Somewhere back East, am I right?” Danny was asking. Steve admired the way he was interrogating her without giving her the impression he was doing so. Danny could be very soothing, and very smooth at the same time. Steve topped the stairs, and saw Angel standing in the hallway. Danny was flipping open a clean sheet. He had already stripped the bed in the room where Grace usually slept. 

“Poughkeepsie,” Angel lied deftly. 

“I’m from Jersey myself,” Danny interjected. He tucked the sheet around the small mattress, glancing at Steve for help. McGarrett dug around in the linen closet, pulling out a spare duvet and cover. “How did you get from Poughkeepsie to Oahu?” 

“You first,” Angel insisted. 

“Ugly divorce. I relocated here to be close to my kid,” Danny added, eyes all over Steve for a minute. Gracie was the reason Danny had come to Hawaii, but certainly there were other reasons why he had remained. 

“Come for the weather, stay for the food,” Steve chirped, making quick work of the duvet. It helped that he had the wingspan of a condor. Danny and Steve each grabbed a pillow, stripping off the cases, tucking the ends under their chins, pulling on a clean case, just that fast. Danny tossed one pillow down, and Steve did the second one. They pulled the duvet into place, and turned to face Angel. 

“Speaking of food, you know, I could eat,” Danny interjected. 

“We’ll have to see what’s in the fridge,” Steve offered. “You hungry?” he asked Angel. She shrugged. 

“I really just want a shower and a good night’s sleep,” she replied. And if that wasn't enough to convince them, Angel tried out a minute stretch, a squeak, and a rather perfunctory attempt at a yawn. Steve and Danny exchanged simultaneous glances filled with doubt.

“Thinking about Jersey makes me think about Ma’s cooking,” Danny mourned. 

“Mm,” Steve agreed. His smile was as thin and long as Danny’s was. 

“Doris a good cook?” Danny wondered. 

“Yeah, actually,” Steve nodded. 

“That’s freaky. I would not have expected that.” 

“You would be surprised.” 

“I am, I promise,” Danny replied. “What do you miss the most, that she used to make for you?” 

“Oh my gosh. I don’t even know,” Steve stammered. 

“When I say ‘home cookin’, what jumps to mind?” 

"Manwich," Steve laughed. “And your mom’s spaghetti sauce.” 

“It’s the burgundy. You gotta have the right burgundy, or it’s all for nothing. Thinly-sliced garlic, and just the right burgundy.” 

“You two work well together,” she observed. 

“We do make great partners,” Danny beamed. 

“We do,” Steve admitted reluctantly. Though his words were terse, his eyes glowed with affection as he stared at Danny.

“How long have you worked together?” Angel continued. 

“We’ve known each other for years,” Danny shrugged. 

“How long has it been?” Steve wondered. 

“It seems like forever, and it seem like just yesterday too,” Danny said. He looked to Steve for an answer. The best cover-stories always contain grains of truth. Steve knew that just as well as Danny did. 

“There you were, pointing your gun at me, flashing your badge, acting all bad ass,” Steve answered with a weird, nostalgic smile. 

"Like you weren't doing the same thing? I wanted to punch you in the mouth so bad. You were such an arrogant ass,” Danny stressed, clenching his fingers together. 

Rather than be offended, Steve lit up with a chuckle. "Me? I was an arrogant ass?” 

"You were the King of Arrogant Asses, Steven."

Angel snorted, then bit back her smile even as her skeptical eyes narrowed. "Steven? Is that your real name?" 

McGarrett laughed loudly, not missing a beat. "Babydoll? You didn't think Spike was my real name, did you?" 

“Point taken. Where's the bathroom?” she asked. 

“The bathroom is across the hall. Towels. You need towels,” Steve winced, hurrying back to the linen closet. “Washcloth. Make yourself at home. We’ll be just down the hall.” 

Steve handed her a big, fluffy pink towel, topped it with a washcloth with a bunny on it, and stepped back, smiling awkwardly. Angel stared at the washcloth, up at Steve, and over at Danny. The boys were holding their breath as the girl’s brown eyes drifted back and forth between them. It was evident in her face that the kid had been around the block enough times to sense that there was something fishy about this entire situation. Given the fact they knew she was up to no good as well, what with that fake-ass stretch and yawn, the air was fairly filled with distrust and misgivings.

“I’ve got mace, and I’m not afraid to use it,” she warned, hurrying into the bathroom. She closed and locked the door tight. 

Steve and Danny exhaled in unison. Steve pulled him into the master bedroom. Behind the door, he clenched a fist into Danny’s shirt collar. 

“You got two minutes to tell me who you think she is, or I’m gonna lose my patience, Danno.” 

“And your terrible accent?” Danny teased mercilessly. 

“Talk,” Steve threatened, lifting him up to eye level. Danny couldn’t help his puckish grin. 

“Put me down, Animal. Long story very short. 2012, Manhattan. Gigi DeLupa and her husband Carmine Indelicato are found dead in their upscale apartment. Throats slit. Carmine’s hands are cut off. Missing from the scene is their fourteen-year-old daughter Bambi DeLupa.” 

“With you so far. If she was fourteen in 2012, that would make her eighteen now?” 

“Seventeen or eighteen,” Danny agreed. 

"Good." 

"Why is that good?" 

"We don't have to call in Child Services if she isn't a minor. Kika will be relieved too." 

“Can we stop whispering in the dark?” 

Steve reached over, flipped on the lights, and let out a startled yelp. He threw himself back against the door with a thud. His demure, pineapple-themed bedding had been replaced by a fluffy, black and purple comforter set. There were fuzzy handcuffs latched to the headboard and the footboard. There were six different dildos tangled in the covers of the unmade bed. The floor was littered with empty liquor bottles, gay porn magazines, and an array of very revealing clothes, both male and female. 

Steve stood there, hands over his heart, mouth hanging open like a landed fish. Danny was laughing silently, gasping for breath, tears in his eyes. He clasped his hands both over his mouth. Steve whacked him in the shoulder. 

“Shut up,” he half-hissed, half-begged. 

Danny only laughed harder. Steve snatched articles off the floor and stuffed them into the clothes hamper in the closet. Danny sat on the bed and picked up one of the sex toys. He flipped the switch, and the silky, soft automaton started to vibrate and turn on an axis from the base. Steve was horrified. He made a stab at grabbing the fake cock away from Danny. Williams was poking Steve in the ribs, left, right, left, until McGarrett managed to pry the toy out of Danny’s hands. 

Danny lay back on the bed, howling with silent giggles. He flipped over, picked up each toy in turn. He turned on each switch, leaving them to wiggle around. It was like a basket of snakes had been turned over in the bed. In a panic, Steve followed, turning them off again. McGarrett snatched up the toys, and went to shove them into the nightstand. At least that was his plan. He opened the drawer, and dropped them all in the lurch on the bed. In the drawer was a paddle, a ball-gag, and large tubes of fruit-flavored lube. Steve slammed the drawer again. He shoved the sex toys under the satiny covers, and smacked Danny's hands to keep him from picking the sex toys up again. 

“You were saying?” McGarrett stammered, hands shaking as he picked up clothes and condom wrappers, tidying up his room as much as possible. 

“I…I was….oh…” Danny gasped, wiping his eyes, grinning. “Where was I?” 

“Two dead bodies in Manhattan, 2012.” 

Danny sobered up quickly. 

“Antonio DeLupa owns a chain of body shops on the East Coast—New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland – yadda yadda. He’s a very successful business man. He’s also rumored to be up to his eyeballs in La Cosa Nostra. He’s the nephew of a couple former bosses who are doing time for RICO activities. He's connected on his mother’s side and his father’s side both. Mr. DeLupa claims he doesn’t participate in illegal, underworld activity, and nobody has ever been able to prove otherwise. All the police can prove is that he’s connected, and he’s rich, and he’s got an eye for a good car.”

“And?” 

“Antonio DeLupa is Gigi’s father, and Bambi is his granddaughter.”

“If Angel is Bambi.”

“She is.” 

“How can you be so sure about this?”

“I feel it in my bones.” 

“If it turns out she’s not Bambi, Mr. DeLupa is going to break those bones for you,” Steve reminded him grimly. 

“Always looking at the bright side, eh, ‘Spike’?” Danny kidded tenderly. "Good save, by the way." 

“Yeah, thanks, Big Mouth. Get to the punchline, Jersey. How come you're on such friendly terms with Mr. DeLupa?” 

“Philly is an old friend, and, poor bastard, he was the lead on the DeLupa-Indelicato murder case. He asked for my advice on the case. He was obsessed with it – it drove him half-crazy until the bosses took it away from him, for his own good. The whole department was working on it for a while, but nobody got nowhere. Philly would call me and ask me for advice about it. Mr. DeLupa himself had to have a sit-down with Philly, and told him, ‘Hey, look. You know, I do appreciate what you’re doing, and as much as I want you to find my baby, I can forgive you if you can’t solve this. From the bottom of my heart, I can forgive you. But you gotta be able to forgive yourself too.’ That’s the thing, isn’t it? That’s the hard part. Trying to forgive yourself if you can’t solve that big one,” Danny murmured with an introspective, distance stare. 

“Go on,” Steve urged as he picked up empty liquor bottles and put them in the trash. 

“Mr. DeLupa is my dad’s favorite mechanic. He does cars, but he also holds the maintenance contracts for all the local fire departments. Keeps all their vehicles in top shape. My dad won’t take his car anywhere else, and he fought for DeLupa Automotive to keep the fire department contracts.” 

“Antonio DeLupa is your dad’s favorite mechanic?” Steve echoed in disbelief. 

“New Jersey is a small world, Steve. Mr. DeLupa? He has lived and breathed cars since he was a kid. Knows them inside and out.”

“What else?” 

“What?” 

“You’re holding something back,” Steve insisted. “Something about the whole situation stinks, and you don’t like it, but you don’t want to say anything because you’re not so sure about the facts. Tell me everything. You can trust me, Danno, and I trust your instincts.” 

“Like I said, Philly consulted me in an unofficial capacity. Evidence from the murder scene implicates Mr. DeLupa. Hair. Fibers. DNA. Finger prints. Shoe prints. He could have been there when they were killed. He could have even killed them,” Danny admitted reluctantly. 

“You don't believe that for a minute. I can see it in your face. It stands to reason his DNA would be there. They’re family. I’m sure he had been in their apartment before the crime occurred,” Steve suggested. 

“Mr. DeLupa told Philly he was there the day before for dinner. Could be the truth. Could be a good lie too.” 

“If Bambi was home when her parents were taken out, and she saw the whole thing? If she knows that her grandfather was involved, and if he knows she knows he's involved, then you’ve just told the killer where the only living material witness in the case is,” Steve pointed out. 

“That had occurred to me, and don't think I don't appreciate having that rubbed in, but....” Danny grumbled. Steve studied Danny’s face as he sat down on the bed beside him. 

“You're not worried about that. You don't believe he did it.”

“No, I don't think he did it. I never thought Mr. DeLupa could have been involved. Always thought someone was framing him.” 

“Why did you think that?” 

“It felt like a set-up. My theory was maybe someone was there to take out Carmine, and Gigi was collateral damage. Or maybe Gigi was the target, and Carmine was collateral damage. That doesn't matter. But I never for one second thought Mr. DeLupa could have done this. Someone took the two of them out, and then made it look like Mr. DeLupa did it.” 

“Why don't you think he did it?” 

“Mr. DeLupa couldn't kill Gigi any more than I could kill Gracie.” 

“What about Carmine?” 

“It's no secret that Mr. DeLupa never liked Carmine. There was no hiding how much they hated each other. They had almost come to blows before in public." 

"The usual in-law thing?" Steve wondered. 

"You know how second marriages can go. Mr. DeLupa never wanted Gigi to marry that bum. But Gigi was lonely, and Carmine was a handsome guy, with flash and cash, as they say.”

"What happened to the first husband?" Steve asked. Danny smiled broadly. 

"They got married at eighteen because Gigi was pregnant. They were too young, had too much growing up to do. Tommy punched Gigi in the face. Gigi shot Tommy in the kneecaps. They parted ways. Irreconcilable differences." 

"I guess so," Steve blinked in surprise. 

"There was kind of a pool going around the stationhouse, how long would Tommy last before someone in the DeLupa family killed him. But that never happened. As far as I know, he's living in Connecticut. The very fact Tommy DeMotto was able to punch Gigi DeLupa and he didn't get iced is by far the best proof that Mr. DeLupa is not involved in organized crime," Danny mused. Steve chuckled and nodded. 

"I'd've taken him out, mob connections or not," the SEAL murmured.

“My point is, Mr. DeLupa might want to kill Carmine, but he would never kill his own daughter, or his granddaughter," Danny insisted.

"Convince me,” Steve whispered. 

“For one, DeLupa comes from strong Catholic background.”

“So do lots of other mobsters.” 

“Antonio lost both his parents to Mob violence when he was a baby. They went out for pasta, and paid with their lives. Antonio was raised by aunts and uncles who passed him around like a parcel. When he grew up and got married and had kids of his own, he worshipped his kids. They are his life. He carried those babies around on a cushion. His son Angelo, he wanted to go to Florence to study art. Mr. DeLupa had to take out a second mortgage on the house, but he made sure Angelo didn't want for nothing. That went double for Gigi. Margaret was her real name. They called her Gigi. She studied French in Paris. Spanish in Madrid. Italian in Rome. Gigi was a translator at the UN. God, Steve. Every time my dad took his car in for a tune-up, Antonio was bragging about his kids. He beamed when he talked about them. Antonio would rather gnaw off his own hand than hurt his kids.” 

“Okay. Relax. I’m warming up to the guy,” Steve soothed. 

“He carries a picture of Gigi and Bambi in his wallet to this day. You gonna slit someone's throat then carry their picture around?” 

“What kind of evidence ties Mr. DeLupa to the crime scene?” Steve asked. "Anything more convincing than hair and fiber and blood?" 

Danny groaned loudly. "Hated that crime scene. Always felt staged. The blood patterns made no sense. Overlapping shit thrown in all directions. Two different layers of blood splatter, like there was a second wave, you know? It was like someone was throwing around blood every which way, and thought there wasn't enough, and went back for a second go at the walls. And another thing? I always thought it felt like two killers instead of one. Carmine was a tall guy, but Gigi was pretty shrimpie. There were two different slice patterns.”

"People tend to wiggle around a bit when you're stabbing them," Steve commented. "Two layers of blood. Two different victims. Two different times of death.

"I'd bet good money the scene was staged." 

"Maybe Bambi killed both her parents. Or maybe Mr. DeLupa and Bambi took out Carmine and Gigi together?" Steve offered. 

"No," Danny dismissed with a frown. 

“Okay. Just tossing it out there. Philly think the scene was staged too?" 

"Yeah," Danny nodded. 

"These murders were not the work of a criminal mastermind, is that what you’re saying?” Steve pressed. 

“Every cliche you can imagine. It was like someone used Dial-A-Hit. The murder weapon was left at the scene -- a steak knife from the kitchen. It had Mr. DeLupa's prints on it. His expensive Armani scarf was left at the scene. It was hanging on the coat rack, and it was covered with blood from both victims. Mr. DeLupa had been to the house the day before for dinner, and that's when he left his scarf. And it's not like someone couldn't have picked up his steak knife, you know?” 

"My thinking is, a guy with all these alleged Mob connections, someone who might not dabble, but has a passing knowledge? He's gonna be smart enough not to leave key evidence at the crime scene," Steve squinted. "He'll pick up his scarf. He'll wipe the prints off the murder weapon."

"Thank you! Yes! Exactly!" Danny shouted. 

“Philly came to you for help, but neither of you got anywhere. But I know you. I know how thorough you are. I know you must have gone over every piece of evidence, the both of you, but you got nowhere either?” 

“We both were thorough, Steve. I swear to you. But we had nothing. We had less than nothing. Philly said it felt like while he was investigating one lead, someone else was busy moving the goal posts, you know? Like maybe the bosses didn't want him to solve this one, because he wasn't going to like what he found at the end.” 

“Philly must have told you about other theories, other suspects?" 

“Shit. She’s in the hallway,” Danny warned, leaping up off the bed.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” Angel called out, stepping past their closed door and down the steps again. 

Steve was up. Danny opened the door, and they followed in Angel’s wake as she slipped down the stairs on quiet feet. 

All three froze -- Danny and Steve at the top of the stairs and Angel near the bottom. She wasn’t dressed for bed. She was wearing jeans and a black teeshirt. Her flowing hair was pulled back in bun. She was wearing dark shoes, and she was tucking an envelope full of cash into her pocket. She dropped the envelope to the floor because her hands were busy yanking the snubnose .22 out of her waistband. It was pretty obvious she was getting ready to bolt. They watched in horror as Angel whipped the snubnose out of her waistband, and pointed it at them.

"Let's all be calm," Danny soothed, hands rising slowly, palms forward. He stepped protectively in front of Steve. 


	6. Fight or Flight

“BAMBI!” Steve shouted as he pushed right past Danny, stormed down the stairs, and confronted the young girl. He had gone right into military mode. 

“Um…” Danny peeped. Steve was furious! He snatched the snubnose .22 out of the girl’s hands, and picked the envelope up off the floor. 

“What in the HELL do you think you’re doing, pointing guns at people? You trying to hurt somebody?” 

“I…” she whimpered, taking several steps back from him, landing on the bottom floor, taking another step back. Steve continued to storm forward. 

“You don’t even have the safety on?! Goddamn it, Bambi! You could have killed one of us! Do you want to spend the rest of your natural life in prison for accidently shooting someone? And what were you doing, carrying a gun around in your waistband? You never, never, under any circumstances, carry a gun in your pants. You put your sidearm in a holster. A waist holster. A pancake holster. A thigh holster. They are not expensive. You don’t…. Jesus, now you’re going to cry?” Steve bellowed angrily as the teen started tearing up. 

Bambi smashed Steve in the mouth, and grabbed the envelope off the floor. She was at the back door, rattling the knob, as Danny walked past Steve, patting him on the shoulder. 

“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, testing his bottom lip. 

Bambi managed to get the back door open, and bolted away into the back yard. 

“You maybe wanna pull yourself together?” Danny asked, gesturing towards the open door. 

“You can’t get out of my backyard unless you go into Mrs. Fornier's yard, over her six foot fence, or you go into the water.”

“You don’t think Bambi knows how to swim?” Danny asked. Steve unlocked the gun safe under the kitchen cabinet, stuffed the snubnose .22 inside. 

“Go ahead. Chase after her. How far is she going to swim in the two minutes it will take me to put away the gun, so maybe, just maybe, she won’t put a fucking bullet in one of us?” 

“Can we hurry before our missing and endangered fugitive manages to escape into the night?” 

“After you?” Steve said, pausing long enough to turn on flood lights which reached every single inch of green and silver in the yard, and the beach, and which could probably have been seen by the Mars Rover. Danny headed outside into the night. He didn’t see any sign of Bambi. 

“Hey, wise guy? I thought you said she couldn’t get out of the yard?” Danny whispered heatedly, keeping his voice down because it was the wee hours of the morning, and chances are, the neighbors did not want to be privy to this conversation. 

“She can’t,” Steve replied. 

A tiny figure darted through the green lawn, heading for the house. A black and brown marbled tomcat went streaking past Steve. 

“Hey, Meatball,” Steve said calmly. Meatball vanished into the living room, where he was surprised to discover the golden eyes peering back at him from under the couch. 

Steve stepped out onto the lanai with Danny. 

“Where is she, Steve?” Danny growled. 

“Well, either there’s a couple of parrots mating in the tree over there, or she shimmied up the trunk,” Steve pointed with a twitch of a grin. McGarrett made his way calmly and serenely towards the tree. Danny rubbed his face with both hands, smoothed down his hair, and took several cleansing breaths before proceeding. He hated when Steve was right, especially when Steve knew he was right.

“Steve, could you do me a favor?" 

"Sure, Danno." 

"Could you be less of an ass for a few minutes?” Danny wondered, pausing next to the tall SEAL, who was squinting up into the tree foliage. McGarrett smirked at Danny, and stared up into the tree again.

“You going to come down? Or do I have to come up after you?” he asked simply. 

No reply. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” 

No reply.

“You can’t go around pointing guns at people. My first CO, my first day, my first weapons training class ever, he said never point a gun at anything you don’t want to kill.” 

“You some kinda cop too?” the voice that floated down from the tree was trembling, but sarcastic. “I knew you were too good to be true. You’re not even Australian.” 

Danny bustled closer to Steve and peered up into the leaves. He couldn’t see the teen, but he knew she was there because the shadows were strange, different than usual. 

“We’re both cops,” Danny answered quietly. 

“We want to help you, keiki,” Steve promised. 

“I’m so sure.”

“Where you going with all that money?” Steve asked. 

“I gotta make a drop.”

“Come down from there. We’ll talk like rational human beings,” Danny pleaded. 

“You’re paying money to someone?” Steve asked. 

“I’m not coming down unless you give me back my gun.” 

“It’s in the gun safe, where guns belong,” Steve replied, frowning up into the tree.

“You don’t gimme back my gun, I’m gonna punch you in the face again,” she warned. 

“Bambi, get down from there,” Steve scolded sternly. 

“My name is not Bambi.” 

“Well it sure as fuck isn’t Angel Stardust either. Get down from there,” Steve growled. 

“My name is Angel.” 

“Okay, have it your way. We’ll call you whatever you want to be called. But you need to get down out of that tree.”

“Please,” Danny added, nudging Steve in the ribs.

“If I don’t make that drop before morning, I’m done. I might as well put a bullet in my own head.” 

“Don’t be dramatic. We're going to drive you to make this drop of yours,” Steve promised. 

“You don’t understand. No cops. If she sees cops, I'm dead.” 

“What don’t I understand? Come down here and talk to me,” Danny pleaded. 

“You lied to me, Spike. You lied to me, and I’m hurt.” 

Steve stared down at Danny for a fraction of a second, moodily bunching his eyebrows together. Then he reached up into the darkness, and latched onto what Danny assumed was either a hand or a foot. Steve pulled, putting up another arm to balance the weight of what he expected to land on him. 

The teen reemerged into the light, one arm clutched around Steve’s throat, clawing at his face with the other hand. Steve tugged her to arms’ length, rearranged her struggling limbs, and threw her bodily over his shoulder. Danny shook his head in amusement and dismay, walking nervously behind Steve as he carried the teen into the house. Bambi was beating the daylights out of Steve, and McGarrett was not responding in any manner. The detective picked up the envelope of money when it hit the lanai. As he followed the others into the house, he was counting. 

“You’re going to sit down, be rational, and explain what you’re talking about,” Steve said, pulling out a kitchen chair and putting the teen into the chair. She sat down in a huff, smoothed her frayed hair, and crossed her arms over her chest, staring off to the right, the left, anywhere but at Steve. McGarrett had livid bite marks on his neck, his cheek, and one arm. Every hair on his head was standing up before he tucked it all back down into place. 

Danny gave Bambi back the envelope of money. 

“There’s two grand here. Are you buying drugs?" 

"I don't do drugs." 

"Is someone black-mailing you?” Danny demanded. 

“What the hell else would I be busting my ass, taking off my clothes in front of strangers, if someone wasn’t shaking me down?” she asked angrily. 

“Bambi?” 

“What?! Don’t call me that. It’s not my name. Not no more it’s not.” 

“Babe, it’s going to be okay,” Danny promised. He sat down in a chair, and put on his Dad face. “Your grandfather is on his way here.”

“I don’t want to see him,” Bambi sniffed, shaking her head. 

“You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to, but he’s been going on three, almost four years, thinking you were dead. He needs to know you’re alive, and that you’re safe,” Steve answered. 

“I’m not talking to you. You lied to me,” Bambi accused again, pointing a finger at Steve, and turning away again. 

Steve sighed heavily, and narrowed his eyes at her. Danny fought a smile, but it faded into sadness once more. 

“Your grandfather is good man. He loves you.” 

“He can’t see me like this. He can’t know.”

“Can’t know what?” 

“Don’t beat around the bush,” Steve murmured. 

“You stay outta this,” Bambi growled at him before turning her attention back to Danny. “It’s my fault.”

“What’s your fault?” Danny asked. 

“It’s my fault Ma’s dead. If I had kept my mouth shut…” 

“Talk to me, babe,” Danny pleaded, extending a hand to her. “You know, my Gracie is not that much younger than you. I can’t pretend I know what you’re going through, but I can tell you, as a father, all I want to do is help make it better. You can trust me. I know how you feel about cops, but you can trust me, and you can trust the Big Lug too,” Danny indicated Steve. Bambi gave Steve another dirty glance, frowning tightly. 

“He lied to me.” 

“Who’s shaking you down?” Steve asked. 

“Well if I knew that, I might be able to figure out how to make it stop,” Bambi snapped at him. 

“Is it a man or a woman? How do they contact you? How do you know where to put the money? How do you…” 

“Steve, baby steps, baby steps,” Danny cautioned. 

“You were there the whole time, lying through your teeth to me, getting me to trust you. It’s a woman.”

“How do you know?” 

“The voice on the phone. They’re using a modulator, but you can tell it’s a woman.” 

“Okay, that’s a start. This woman? She contacts you. She demands money. Why is she demanding money?” 

“She said if I don’t keep paying her, she’s going to make sure everyone knows where I am.”

“How long have you been in Hawaii?” 

“About a year.” 

“How did you get here?” 

Bambi waited a moment, stared at the table, at the envelope, and toyed with the flap. 

“I stripped and hooked in LA to get the money for a ticket here.” 

Danny looked like he wanted to cry. He reached out and took her hand, petting gently. 

“And?” 

“And what?” Bambi sniffled. Steve shrugged, and continued to stare at her. 

“You were paying this person money in LA too?” 

“Yeah.” 

“This person followed you from LA to Hawaii?” 

“Yeah.” 

“How long have they been shaking you down?” 

“A couple years.” 

Low-pitched growling was heard under the couch. 

“Meatball, leave her alone,” Steve said without even looking in that direction. The big tomcat raced out, and ran under Steve’s chair, sitting next to his leg, blinking back at the sofa in surprise. Steve casually ran a hand down the cat’s back. “Dude, be nice. Does your momma know you’re roaming outside? Where’s your collar? You lose it on the beach again?” 

"Neighbor's cat," Danny explained quietly. Bambi nodded.

Meatball climbed up into Steve’s lap and settled down. Princess emerged, strutting over to Bambi. She sat down under the chair, eyeballing Meatball suspiciously. Everyone stared at the cats, not at each other. Danny sighed sadly, and patted Bambi's hand again.

"It's gonna be okay, kiddo," Danny promised. Bambi sniffled, making skeptical face. All the while, McGarrett stared back and forth between them, his thoughts drifting into places Danny might have wanted to smack him for. Williams glanced up in time to see Steve hiding a proud smile filled with such love. Steve stroked Meatball's lop-sided ears, and shook his head. He stuck a hand at Bambi with a suddenness which made the teen flinch.

"Bambi DeLupa? Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett, Five-O Task Force."

"I knew you were too good to be true," she muttered, smacking his hand away. 

“I know. I'm an ass for lying to you. But I'm going to help you out. Me and Danny, we're going to fix this. Okay?" 

"Yeah, whatever," Bambi sneered. 

"You're going to have to trust us," Danny pleaded. 

"That's not likely," Bambi muttered with narrowed eyes. The feline in her lap echoed her feelings, glaring at Steve and Danny in turn.

"Here’s what we’re going to do,” Steve decided, patting the table.


End file.
